Twelve Gauge
by InsaneAuthor44
Summary: Rated for character death and abuse.  Gwen is sick of being a punching bag, songfic, one-shot, may write an after series to go along with it, not sure yet.


**A/N This has been bugging the hell outta me. Enjoy!**

_There's a twelve gauge shotgun lyin' on the floor, she's not sure that he's breathin' anymore._

_Now she's sitting on the corner of the bed in her room, siren's blarin' they'll be there soon._

_Now she's cryin' with her head in her hands, talkin' so fast, they don't understand._

_Said he hit her that mornin', he hit last night, and all she remembers is a flashin' light._

Gwendolyn Renolds was going numb. Her boyfriend, Trent Smithers, had been abusing her for the last few months, and despite her better judgement, she hadn't told anyone. She'd never admit it, but she was afraid to; he might hit her harder if he found out.

Gwen had come back to the apartment they shared after work, her itchy turtleneck sweater worn to hide the bruses. Trent had had a go at her last night, and that morning. The beatings were becoming more frequent.

As she opened the door, she noticed the man in question sitting at the island in the kitchen, idly tossing a ball into the air, and catching it every time. He smiled at her as she came in, as if they were the perfect couple, as if he wasn't a monster.

The evening went on slowly. Gwen cooked a dinner of fried chicken and Trent ate it happily. The two watched some television for a while, before Trent decided they were tired and dragged Gwen into the bedroom. The girl was slightly frightened, this is where the beatings were always held, but she was too numb to care anymore, really. The hitting didn't even hurt very much anymore.

They changed into pajamas, Gwen in a over-sized t-shirt and shorts, Trent in a plaid pair of cotton pants. He pulled her over to the bed, and they sat.

Trent smiled. "How was your day, Gwen?"

"Fine," She responded dully.

He frowned. "Did anything exciting happen?"

"No." The same monotone.

"You love me?" He asked.

Trent was met with silence.

_Well he caught her with a quick right cross, didn't know the line he'd crossed._

_Now there's blood in her hair, blood on her clothes, blood still runnin' from her nose._

_Well she went and found a box of shells, gonna send him straight to Hell._

_There were tears on her face and her eyes turned black,_

_Didn't know a twelve gauge could kick like that._

The man became enraged, and she could see it in his eyes. She didn't moved from her spot, just waited for the inevitable punishment for her hesitation. He raised a tanned hand, and got a grip on her hair before smacking her across the face. He pulled her hair and scratched at her scalp until it bled. He watched with a greedy smile as the blood ran onto the t-shirt she wore, his t-shirt. He smashed her nose in, for good measure.

That was when she screamed. That was when she awoke from her haze and fought back.

Kneeing Trent where it hurt for men, Gwen jumped up and ran to the bedside table, taking out his twelve gauge shot gun. She pulled out some shells, quickly loading them in before the raven-haired male could see what she was doing. She cried as she aimed at his leg and shot, pupils enlarging. She didn't know a twelve gauge could kick like that. She'd hit his head on accident. Was he breathing?

_There's a twelve gauge shotgun lyin' on the floor, she's not sure that he's breathin' anymore._

_Well they put her in the cop car and took her downtown, all her neighbors standin' 'round._

_And now she's cryin' with her head in her hands, and talkin' so fast that they don't understand._

_Said he hit her in the morning, he hit her that night, all she remembered was a flashin' light._

Gwen sat on the corner of the queen bed, throwing the gun away from her. The tears were coming much faster now and she put her head in her hands. There were sirens blaring in the distance, and a few minutes later there was a police officer sitting in front of her, the other two checking out Trent.

"What in blazes happened here?" The man asked, looking down on the crying girl.

"I, I, he was h-hitting me, he hit me this m-m-morning and last night and tonight-t and I couldn't do it any-more and and I got to the desk and g-grabbed the gun and I, I didn't know it would do that!" Gwen spoke so fast and studdered so much that the officer couldn't make out what she was saying. He asked her to try again, to slow down, but she didn't seem to be able to.

"Well, we'll just have to take her downtown until she's calmed a bit," One officer told another, and they each took one of her arms, the third man staying behind to call in someone to come and get the body. Gwen continued to cry, simply letting the men drag her down the hall of the apartment building, her neighbors all coming out to see what was going on. Miss Withers didn't come; Gwen bet her life's savings that she'd called the police.

As Gwen sat in the back on the car, she could only think one thing.

_But he's never gonna hit her again, he's never gonna hit her again. _

_You can be real sure of one thing friend, he'll never ever hit her again._

**A/N Well, what do you think? I disclaim the song Twelve Gauge and and characters of Total Drama Island. I think I might start a fic about Gwen in jail to go along with this; I bet you'll never guess who she'll meet there! Anyways, review, please? Just so everyone knows, I do like TrentxGwen, I just like DuncanxGwen better.**


End file.
